


Departure

by poetofthebees



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV First Person, Post-Reichenbach, Sad Sherlock, Sherlock's thoughts, Unrequited Love, because one of them is FUCKING DEAD, i hate myself for writing this, this bums me out, warnings for suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5146748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthebees/pseuds/poetofthebees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home early to find John gone. And this time, where John goes, Sherlock follows, no matter where that may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Bold-Sherlock speaking out loud  
> Underline-John speaking in Sherlock's thoughts  
> Normal-Sherlock's thoughts

I am a broken man.

 

* * *

He should've waited for me-why didn't he-didn't care-doesn't-no he's dead-he is no longer an is but a was-I did this-my fault-my fault-I can't take this-no feeling-you bloody machine-he said I was a machine-I'm not, John-I'm a monster.

 

* * *

Mycroft is telling me that I can stay with him, if I need to. _If I need to._ I can't go back to 221b, not where he-stop.

 

Later.

 

I will think of that later.

 

I will _not_ think of that later.

 

I will smoke later instead. Yes, I will smoke-you were doing so well-shut up, John!

 

Why didn't you wait? Why-should've known-suicidal tendencies-numb-this is my fault-I'm sorry, John-I'm so-

 

Smoking will not help this.

 

* * *

One good thing about London is there’s always drug dealers. Heroin, that wicked gift; but John would be so disappointed-you okay?-leave me alone, John; we’re good at leaving, you and I. Me and you. John and Sherlock. We were a pair-partners-a team-what we could've been, John-I'm not actually gay!-I'm not either. Funny how that works.

 

I always thought love was a disadvantage, John. I am finding that to be correct. I feel as though I have lost a limb. No, not a limb-all transport, you know-I feel as if I have lost half of my brain-my heart-my soul. I'm not the romantic, John. I'm not good at this.

 

* * *

Nothingness-John-I can't believe you-you left me!-everyone leaves-I hate you-I hate you-I love you-I love you.

 

* * *

I was going to tell you. I attempted writing it once; it was a terrible idea. I decided I would just walk up to the door-maybe kiss-no-mustn't think of that now-no.

 

I would walk up to 221b. I would knock. You would come up to the door. You would be so angry, John-so betrayed-you betrayed him-this is your fault-stop-stop-I'm sorry, John. I don't-

 

You would hit me, most likely. I calculated the chances of you breaking my nose while I was in Serbia-Serbia-two broken fingers, two broken ribs-I wished that you had been my doctor, John. I was so-I am so lost without you.

 

But I would've told you when I came back. I would've said:

 

**John. I have known you for five years; yes, three of those were in various places around the world. It gave me time to think about you. I thought about you so much. You never left my mind. I thought the work might drown out thoughts of you. They never have, so I was wrong to think they could've then.**

This is similar to when you had your little-no, it wasn't little-speech at my grave after I faked my suicide. Is that what you did, too? Are you in Serbia-Paris-Tokyo waiting for me? Tell me that you faked your death, John. I can't breathe without you-I can't-

 

I need a cigarette. I know you don't approve-I can't help it-but, I'm an addict. For drugs-nicotine-you. You were the one drug I could never overdose on. I know all about overdose. I never told you-of course not-you would get that look in your eyes-that I always thought was heartbroken affection-when I talked about my past. You never pitied me, John, only loved me. I need to continue. I need to get these words out. I can't keep them with me anymore.

 

Do you mind if I smoke while I talk? He doesn't mind-he can't-he's dead.

 

**You consumed me, I think. I love you with my whole being, heart, body, mind and soul. I may have loved you from the start. After you shot the cabbie- You always amaze me, John. You always-**

I can't do this-I can't-

 

* * *

How  _dare_ you use your Browning? How can I ever think back to those memories and that gun when I know what else that gun is capable of? How  _could_ you, John? Did it remind you of when we first met? Is that why-I'm so sorry, John. This is what you do to me you know. I haven't cried this much since I was a child and Redbeard-

 

I want to hate you so badly. My anger towards you is burning my very soul. Yes, I can be poetic, John. I am actually quite a bit better than you if those poems to your girlfriends are anything to go by.

 

What were you _thinking_ when you dated all those women? Would it have been so bad to admit to loving me? What is so wrong with-I'm a monster- _you machine_ -oh.

 

Your death is my fault, and I know that I will never be forgiven.

 

* * *

Do you believe in Heaven, John?

 

I hate drinking. It messes everything up. You’re destroying me, taking me down with you. Whiskey was a terrible idea; I'm going to feel even worse tomorrow.

 

Returning to my question, do you even believe in a god? You never told me, I never asked. I tried not to deduce you often. I know it makes you uncomfortable. I always try to please you, John. What do you _want me to do?!_

 

I shouldn't have thrown my glass. Now there's shards across the rug.Thankfully, Mycroft's not here; he's at his office working himself to a slow and lazy death.

 

Fat bastard.

 

* * *

I can't do this anymore, John.

 

I can't live without you.

 

* * *

I had forgotten what it's like to be in this much pain. The drugs don't help. The whiskey doesn't make me forget you. It only makes me see you in the shadows-I am just a shadow.

 

I need to go back to 221b.

 

That's where you did it after all.

 

And are we not alike in that way?

 

* * *

There’s still blood on the wall in your room. If it were not for the heroin currently coursing through my veins, I might’ve fainted when I saw it. That’s all that’s left of you, John, rusty blood staining the wallpaper.

 

Mycroft told me that your face was almost unrecognizable. I always knew that you had wanted to-when I first met you, I deduced it-you held that gun _so much,_ John-I was so blind-I’m so blind.

 

I stole your Browning from Lestrade’s office. He wasn’t supposed to have it, so I’m not sure why he kept in hidden in his desk. Sentiment, perhaps?

 

_Sentiment._

 

I hate you, John. I will never forgive-myself-you.

 

How could you _kill yourself_ on your bed, in your room, in 221b, on Baker Street, in London? How could you take yourself away from me? I know you thought I was dead-it’s my fault, my fault-but couldn’t you have waited a few more months? I was going to come back, John, I promise.

 

I’ll come back to you now. I can’t live without you, John. I can’t live without a heart. You took that with you, you know. I am nothing without you.

 

The Browning is cold in my hands. I’ve clicked off the safety. I’ll put it in my mouth-bite the bullet-I don’t want to set the cold barrel to my temple, like you did.

 

Were you afraid, John? No, you’re a soldier. You’re the bravest man I know. Captain Watson.

 

I feel so alone, John-I was so alone-I need you. Will you meet me wherever you are? I’ll look for you in the stars, when I get there. I’m ashamed to say that I am not as brave as you are-were. I’m scared, but I need to do this, there’s no other way- _stop it now_ -it’s no use.

 

Just for me, just stop it. Stop this.

 

I’m sorry.

 

I love you, John.

 

See you soon.

  
Oh, god, what if I can’t-for John-for John-for him-anything for hi-

 

* * *

> bang

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Please leave comments and suggestions! Thanks!-Alethea


End file.
